Delirium
by sue-sylvester-shuffle
Summary: (Takes place late season three) It's no secret that Derek Shepherd is a talented neurosurgeon. However, no one can perform surgery with a high fever... can they? (DEREK/BAILEY FRIENDSHIP. IMPLIED DEREK/MEREDITH.)


Dr. Miranda Bailey was the type of person who liked her life cleanly divided into categories. She was _not_ the type of person who liked her work to seep into her home life, or vice versa. Most of the time, she got her way. However, there was one overlap; Derek Shepherd took the same route to work that she did, and sometimes they would end up walking together. It wasn't the end of the world. If she had to see anyone from the hospital outside, Bailey decided, it would probably be Derek. He was kind, friendly, and a very talented surgeon. But the work he put into his hair was ridiculous.

One crisp fall morning, Bailey was a few blocks away from Seattle Grace when she caught sight of Derek walking ahead of her, blowing into his hands and rubbing them together for warmth. He was not wearing a hat over his senseless hair. "Dr. Shepherd!" Bailey called, jogging to catch up with him. _Damn you and your long legs,_ she thought. The neurosurgeon stopped to let her reach him, and gave a little wave when she got close. "Good morning," Bailey added when she caught up with him. "Cold out today, isn't it?"

Derek nodded, but didn't say anything. Bailey went on, "Hope you got some sleep last night after that monster of a surgery we did yesterday. I sure did. Walked in the door of my house, kissed my son, and went right to bed." She chuckled. Derek smiled, but again, he was silent. That was uncharacteristic for him; most of the time, it was hard to shut him up. _He must be upset about something,_ thought Bailey.

Ever since she gave birth to Tuck, Bailey had been fervent about saying that becoming a mother had not softened her. That wasn't entirely true. Her misfit little band of interns were like the unruly children she watched over at the hospital, and Derek, despite being her boss, was a bit of a lost child sometimes too. Bailey sighed. Sometimes, when Tuck was upset, just talking to him helped.

"I was so fixated on that surgery, I even dreamed about it last night," Bailey continued as they walked. "You were in the dream, too. _Not_ in the way you show up in Grey's damn dreams," she clarified when he raised his eyebrows. "I think it was just because we spent ten hours together in surgery. And you looked so tired at the end of it all. I was thinking about you, I guess. Again, not like Grey does."

This made a wide grin spread across Derek's face. He laughed, very softly. Bailey smiled back. "In the dream, we were operating. But you were using a plastic knife instead of a scalpel… and my son was there operating too. Sitting right on the patient's chest!"

Derek laughed again, and it was then that she realized how hoarse he sounded. "Are you feeling alright, Shepherd?" asked Bailey, crossing her arms. "You're never this quiet. I know that because all of your chattering gets irritating after a while. What's wrong?"

Derek pointed at his throat and shrugged. Bailey frowned. "You've lost your voice?" she said. He nodded. It was then that she realized how pale he looked.

"Let me see if you have a fever," added Bailey. She stood up on her tiptoes to place a hand on his forehead, but he stepped away, straightening up so that he was hopelessly out of her reach. "Damn you," she hissed. "Don't do this to me, Shepherd! I'm under five feet, you know!"

Derek laughed at this, despite the fiery glare she was giving him. However, the effort of laughing made him start to cough. As he leaned over to cover his mouth with his arm, Bailey was able to reach his forehead. "You're pretty warm," she observed, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. "Go home, Shepherd. I don't want you infecting any patients."

The other surgeon cleared his throat, and began to whisper to her. Bailey had to lean in to hear him amongst the bustling passersby on the sidewalk. "I can't go home. Got this patient… she's at risk of brain damage and I have to check up on her every hour or so. If something happens, I'll need to operate, and none of the other top neurosurgeons are in the state right now. I contacted them a few days ago."

"A few days ago?" repeated Bailey. "You mean you were feeling sick then, too? I was in the O.R. with you for ten hours yesterday. How did I not notice?"

Derek shrugged. "You were focused on the surgery, I guess," he whispered.

Bailey sighed. Looking back, when she had been elbow-deep in their patient with Derek, he had been pale then too. "Focus, Shepherd," she had told him. Who knew what his temperature had been then?

"All right, then," Bailey said. "Let's go. But I _will_ check your temperature when we get to the hospital. And you have to promise me you'll take it easy."

Derek grinned. "You forget I'm your boss," he whispered, but broke into another fit of coughing.

"Mmhm," Bailey replied, reaching up and patting him gently on the back. "That's what I thought."

* * *

When the two surgeons reached Seattle Grace, Bailey led Derek through the door to the clinic. "Sit down," she told him, and headed over to a nearby shelf to find a thermometer. As she walked away, she heard the tinny sound of Derek closing the curtain around the bed where he was sitting. Bailey chuckled to herself.

Just then, she heard footsteps behind her, and an excited voice said, "Dr. Bailey, do we really have a patient this early in the morning?" It was Izzie Stevens, beaming from ear to ear. "I can help, if you need me to!"

"That's all right, Dr. Stevens. I'll handle this one," Bailey told her.

"Is it something serious?" asked Izzie, turning around to look at the closed curtains around Derek's bed.

"No," Bailey responded. "Just a sick doctor who refuses to admit he's the patient."

"Oh," Izzie said. However, she hung around as Bailey unwrapped the thermometer, and she followed the resident over to Derek's bed. Bailey pulled the curtains aside to reveal Derek, who glanced pitifully up at Izzie.

"Oh- hello, Dr. Shepherd," Izzie greeted him. Derek gave her a wan smile before turning back to Bailey, who was approaching him with the thermometer.

"You don't need to do this," he whispered.  
"Yes, well, I think I do," said Bailey. "Open up."

Reluctantly, Derek opened his mouth, and Bailey slid the thermometer under his tongue. He closed his mouth and crossed his arms. In that moment, he looked exactly like Tuck throwing one of his tantrums. Bailey laughed. "Doctors really do make the worst patients," she remarked. Izzie giggled.

"Shut up," Derek snapped, but the effort of raising his voice made him start to cough. Bailey removed the thermometer and studied it as she rubbed his back.

"102.5," she announced. "That's it, Shepherd, you're staying _right_ here."

"Can't," he whispered once the fit ended. "My patient."

"Well, I'm giving you Stevens today," Bailey decided. Turning to Izzie, she added, "Dr. Shepherd has a patient that needs to be checked every hour. A nurse will get you her chart. If anything happens, you come right back here and tell him, all right?"

Izzie nodded. "Of course, Dr. Bailey. Feel better soon, Dr. Shepherd!" She hurried off. Bailey watched her leave, and turned back to Derek.

"There," she told him. "You can relax now."

"Can't relax," whispered Derek, and rubbed his throat, wincing.

Bailey reached over to a cart sitting nearby and picked up a tongue depressor. "Open up, Shepherd," she said again. This time, he did not complain. Bailey placed the tongue depressor and peered down his throat. "Say ahh," she told him.

"Ahh."

"Definitely inflamed," Bailey told him, removing the tongue depressor and tossing it into the garbage. "I think you might have laryngitis."

Derek's eyes widened for a moment, and then he shook his head. "Can't. My patient…"

"I didn't ask if it was convenient for you to be sick, Shepherd." Bailey said. "If it were up to me, you'd be on your way home right now. But I know you can't do that 'cause of your patient. So you're going to stay _right here_ and rest. Understand?"

The neurosurgeon was silent for a moment. "I'm your boss, Dr. Bailey," he whispered finally.

"And right now, you're my patient," Bailey reminded him. "So lie down."

Derek sighed. "Fine," he mumbled, and lay down on the bed.

"Good," said Bailey. "Now, I have clinic duty, and people should be coming in soon. If you need me, page me. I'm gonna check up on you later. But for right now, rest."

Derek nodded. Bailey patted his arm sympathetically before walking away from the bed. She pulled the curtains closed around him as she went.

As she walked away, Bailey heard him whisper, "Thank you," from the other side of the curtain.

"You're welcome, Dr. McDreamy," she called back, and smirked at the audible groan he gave in return.

* * *

"All right, Mr. Brantford. The sutures are in, so you're good to go," Bailey told the man she had just stitched up.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said. Bailey smiled at him before walking away. She wandered over to Derek's bed and slipped around the curtain. The neurosurgeon was asleep, curled up on his side. His hair, which he usually put so much work into, was plastered over his forehead with sweat. Bailey reached down and felt his face. He was still quite feverish.

"Idiot," Bailey murmured to no one in particular. "Shouldn't have done a ten hour surgery while you were already sick."

Just then, there was a flurry of footsteps from behind Bailey. The surgeon turned around to see Izzie fling herself around the corner. "Dr. Shepherd!" she called out. Derek's eyes fluttered open, and he coughed a few times before sitting up.

"What is it?" he asked. His voice was stronger, but he sounded exhausted.

Izzie swallowed hard. "Your patient. She had a stroke. You need to operate right now, or she's at risk of permanent brain damage, or even death."

In a matter of seconds, Derek was out of bed. He swayed slightly as he stood up, and Bailey put a hand on his back to steady him. Concern pricked at her. "Now hang on just a second," she said. "Shepherd, let me take your temperature again."

"No time," replied Derek, reaching into his bag and pulling out his scrubs.

"Fine," Bailey conceded. "But I'm scrubbing in with you."

He nodded. "All right. Let's go, then. Time is of the essence here."

"It always is," sighed Bailey.

* * *

"This is a bad idea," Bailey told Derek.

"You've said that a dozen times now," Derek responded, without turning around from the sink where he was washing his hands.

"And I'll say it a dozen more times, because you don't seem to be listening to me!" Bailey exclaimed, turning off her sink and crossing her arms. "Under normal circumstances, you are a very talented and capable surgeon, Dr. Shepherd. But these are _not_ normal circumstances. You are running a high fever, and operating with a fever is just as dangerous as operating drunk!"

This made him swivel around, eyes dark with anger. "Dr. Bailey, do I seem drunk to you? Do I seem delirious? If I don't do this surgery, a woman will die. How could I possibly live with myself if I was resting in bed while she bled into her brain and died?"

The air was charged with tension as he finished speaking. Bailey pursed her lips, letting the silence spill into the room. "All right," she said finally. "I'll see you in the O.R., then."

With that, she shook her hands once to rid them of water, and headed into the operating room. Inside, Izzie and four nurses were standing around Derek's patient, who was unconscious on the table. A few moments later, Derek came in, tying up his surgical mask. "All right," he said, looking around at Bailey, Izzie, and the nurses, and then at his patient. "Today's a beautiful day to save lives. Let's begin." His voice was strong enough to say his mantra, but it was still hoarse. Bailey's stomach turned. _Be careful, you idiot,_ she thought to herself.

"Scalpel," Derek requested. A nurse handed it to him. Bailey tensed as he brought it close to the patient's head, but his cut was straight and clean. She swallowed hard as he suctioned away the blood that dripped from the incision; her heart was in her throat. _Careful,_ she kept thinking.

Derek reached over and picked up the drill that was set down on a cart beside him. He positioned it carefully above the top of the patient's head and began to drill through her skull. Bailey studied the precision with which he was able to operate, despite his high fever. It was impressive, but it didn't stop her from worrying. There was just so much that could go wrong. If Derek coughed or stumbled while his scalpel was in a sensitive part of the brain, his hand would move and he would do unspeakable damage to the patient. If his fever got any higher due to the stress of complicated brain surgery, he might even pass out. Bailey shuddered as an image entered her mind of Derek falling backward and cutting a long gash from the top of the brain to the base. She shook her head to clear it.

Derek pulled the drill away and picked up his scalpel again. Bailey watched as he placed the blade against the patient's brain, and made a small incision. His movements were still precise and purposeful. Bailey began to relax.

Just then, Derek swayed on the spot. If Bailey hadn't been right next to him, she wouldn't have noticed. "You okay there, Dr. Shepherd?" she asked.

"Fine," the neurosurgeon responded, but he moved his scalpel away from the patient's brain. "I just need a second."

He closed his eyes, and the operating room was silent save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Bailey glanced across the table; Izzie's eyes were wide and full of concern. Of the four nurses that were accompanying them, three looked confused and one looked frustrated. They were all looking at Derek. Bailey let out a short sigh, removed one of her gloves, and reached up to feel Derek's forehead. In a moment of weakness, he leaned into the coolness of her touch, and she put her free hand on his back to steady him.

"Derek Shepherd," she began sternly. "You are burning up. For you to continue this operation would be a danger to your patient, and to yourself. Get out of the O.R."

Derek opened his eyes. They were glassy with fever. "I can't leave. If I don't do this operation, my patient will die."

"Then walk me through the operation," said Bailey.

"It's a highly advanced procedure," Derek told her. "I'm sorry, Dr. Bailey, but it has to be me."

"It _cannot_ be you," Bailey retorted.

Derek looked as if he was about to reply, but instead, he fell into another fit of coughing. The scalpel fell out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Bailey swore under her breath and took the opportunity to guide him away from the patient and over to a chair at the back of the operating room, which she pushed him into. "Tell me what to do," she said. "I'll do exactly what you tell me to. But you _cannot_ touch that patient when you're in this state. You're delirious. You could kill her."

Derek paused for a moment to catch his breath, and then sighed. "Fine," he conceded. "Dr. Bailey… I'm sorry."

"No time to be sorry right now, Shepherd," Bailey told him. "Just walk me through the operation."

Derek nodded. Bailey gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before heading back over to the operating table. A nurse held out a new pair of gloves, which Bailey put on. "Go take Dr. Shepherd's temperature," she ordered the nurse, who nodded and headed off to find a thermometer. Bailey picked up a clean scalpel and poised it next to the patient's exposed brain. She took a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs, hoping that it would wash away some of her fear. She had assisted Derek on countless brain surgeries over the years, but it was not an area of the body that she would ever want to specialize in. However, that did not matter; all that mattered was the patient on the table in front of her, and the scalpel in her hand.

"What's my first step?" she asked.

"All right," Derek began. "Make a small incision about an inch below the frontal lobe…"

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Bailey was tightening her last stitch over the patient's skull. "Stevens," she called over to her intern. "Clean and bandage this for me."

Izzie nodded, and walked around the table. Bailey stepped back to let Izzie take her place, and let out a breath that had been hitched in her throat since she first placed her scalpel on the patient's brain. She turned around and walked back over to the chair where Derek was sitting. "It's done," she told him, relieved. "I did it."

Though Derek's surgical mask was covering his mouth, his eyes were smiling more than his lips ever could. "You did it," he echoed. "Great work, Dr. Bailey."

"Thank you. But I couldn't have done it without your help."

"No. Don't thank me," Derek said. "You warned me that I was making a mistake, and I didn't listen. I put the patient in danger. I was an idiot."

"Yes, you were," Bailey agreed. When he looked disheartened, she added, "But you were also devoted. You would stop at nothing to help your patient, even though I know you were feeling like shit. You heard what the nurse said your temperature was. 103.3 degrees! But you did your best, and now your patient will live a long and happy life."

Derek shook his head, beaming. "No. _You_ saved that patient. If it weren't for you… she would probably be dead right now. Thank you, Dr. Bailey."

Bailey smiled back. "All right. Enough of this sappy stuff," she said. "Let's get you back down to the clinic, okay?"

She extended a hand down to Derek, who laughed and took it. "Okay," he replied. Bailey pulled the other surgeon to his feet, and together, they left the operating room.

end


End file.
